Flesh like Mine
by FeralEco
Summary: Edward learns the meaning of cherishing something, even if he is over his head when finding a young girl that is similar to him and promising to care for her. Yet, can he control her anger and rage while sorting his purpose?


**Disclaimer:**

**Yeah well, in no way do I own Edward Scissorhands or the film... although I wish I did. Don't we all... What I DO own is my OC. I won't give it away though wink**

**Flesh like Mine**

**Chapter 1**

**What the Storm May Bring**

It was that type of day, dreary, gloomy, dark and damp. Edward preferred to stay in on these types of days, watching his garden becoming drenched in the light-kissed rain as it gently fell outside. Edward loved watching the rain, but being out in it was something completely different. He looked down at his scissor bladed hands, frowning. Another limitation. Water made the metal of the machines rust, surely it could make his hands rust too. Sitting with his back to the wall, knees propped up as he rested one arm across them he stared out, eyes stern and intent as he thought. It had been at least 4 months since that night... and it was somewhat like this day. Gloomy, dreary... depressing. He was depressing... or depressed. It didn't matter, loneliness caught his heart and spun him into madness of dark days and lonely nights. Most nights now he wouldn't sleep. What was the use? What purpose would there be to wake up?

Edward stared at the rain even more as it went from a light mist, to a terrifying downpour of thunder and lightning. The Creator had taught him about thunderstorms with books, and Edward thought of them as interesting, yet dangerous, especially with the metal he carried in his body. Moving from the window a few feet, he pulled a chair and stared down at Suburbia glumly. It looked much better at night, only because he saw just lights and no people. His mind now drifted to Kim. Each time he visualized her in his mind, his heart felt as if it had another hole bored into it and he swept the thoughts away. She had only visited once afterwards, then he never saw her again. He watched now as he thought, watched the rain start to ease up as the night wore on. He could sit for hours at the broken window, just thinking. He never spoke, why would he need to? There wasn't anyone to listen to anyway...

The hours of the night wore on and Edward's eyes finally felt heavy and wanted to instinctively shut tight. Finally, he had fallen into a hard slumber, one of his more unpleasant dreams and his scissors twitched during the night. The morning however came earlier than he thought and the light burned through his eyelids, forcing his eyes open. It was still wet out, yet sunny and clear. Rising to the broken window, he stared below at his garden. It would need tending... it always did.

Edward rarely ate, only when he felt hungry, yet he wasn't very good at preparing meals, even though he knew how. More limitations. Skipping breakfast, he headed outside, allowing the bright sun to bounce onto his pale skin. For a man who spent so much time outside in the gardens, he sure was pale as a sheet.

Edward slipped through the bushes in his garden, most already shaped, some needing a slight trim, others growing taller each day. He began to snip, slowly at first, then a bit faster, his mind creating the image of what would be another masterpiece of his. Yet, he started... and stopped almost minutes later. Perhaps he would come back when it was drier out... being afraid of his scissors rusting out. That certainly would not be a good thing.

He decided to keep walking through the gardens, his leather suit feeling somewhat confining and restricting, various slices from his scissors here and there, but never penetrating fully and always leaving the suit intact. He stared down at his boots, which he never removed really, unless needed.

Twitch.

His blades always did that when he was nervous.

Twitch, twitch.

Although, he was even more nervous now, there were no animals leading to the back of the gardens, which flooded out into an empty field, followed by a plot of woods and then a small river and it was odd not to hear the birds. He noted to himself how the river had carried all sorts of things to his garden, branches, mud, various leaves... and then, something else. It was quiet... too quiet.

Twitch.

He was nervous still. Why weren't the birds chirping? Had they been blown away with the storm?

Twitch, twitch.

What was this laying here? Cautiously, he approached the figure and peered down. Another person? He feared the worse. Would this one not wake up like The Creator and Jim? Taking his boot, he rolled what he presumed human over, what he saw, nearly sent him flying back.


End file.
